Bloodcurdling
by auroraustralis
Summary: 'George stood in the midst of it all, feet planted on either side of Fred's body, as if defying anyone who would dare take his twin from him' - Ginny's POV on Fred's death. Quite sad. ONESHOT.


**_A/N: I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I own nothing. If you feel in any particular way towards this fic, please review, as I'm fairly new to this and starved for constructive criticism._**

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Bloodcurdling. The only fitting adjective for that scream.

I ran into the Great Hall, adrenaline pumping, emotions- anxiety, bone-chilling terror- rolling into one revolting mass. I recognized that voice, even in its desperation.  
'Hell, no', my mind chanted repeatedly, a mantra amidst the smoke. So much smoke. Rubble everywhere, pungent, coppery smells. I twisted my ankle on a loose stone and swore under my breath, 'Damn it to Hell'. Or maybe not, for _this_ is hell.  
Reaching the doors, I paused, bile rising to my mouth, stomach protesting against the fear, against the lack of food and peace and rest.  
 _Fear_. We were supposed to be the brave ones. The bold. The triumphant. This didn't look much like it. I wished I could just bolt, run away from all the horror. I wished I didn't have to prove myself.  
Knees buckling, I entered the Hall. The smell of acrid death invaded my nostrils. I squeezed my eyelids shut and counted to five, breathing through my suddenly very dry mouth.

Another hair-rising wail. Great, wracking sobs.

I knew, already. Unclenching my eyelids, I saw them. Clustered together, as bloody always. My swollen ankle protested as I approached, grinding my teeth, forcing vomit down.  
Mum, trying to pull her hair out by the roots. Dad, holding her panicked wrists, tears tracks dry on his face. This is bad. Percy to the side, isolated as always- _his own man._ Arm in a cast, his face a mask of something terrible. Bill was sobbing on Fleur's grimy shoulder. Charlie looking straight ahead, in his eyes a murderous fire.  
'Ginny', his voice broke and his face contorted in fury- at this ashen day, at his own weakness. 'Ginny, come'. I walked past countless bodies, bloodied and soiled and cold. Remus and Tonks, hands inches apart, separate and unmoving. Lavender, staring at the starry ceiling, forever-affixed eyes of wonder above her torn throat. A trickle of cool perspiration down my spine. Charlie's crazed gaze attached to mine. They formed a circle. No.

Screaming. Hollow, inarticulate howls.

George lied on his face, arms clutching at Fred's lifeless corpse, shaking . Whimpering now, eyes closed, clawing at his twin's hair, at his chest. Gripping Fred's shoulders, he screamed again, an agonizing animal. I had never seen anyone in so much pain. It unnerved me. I wished I could pass out, stop this horror. Charlie faced away from everyone, fists clenched in distress. Bill was trying to tear George from Fred's body, eliciting more tortured screams. Everyone alive in the Hall was _staring._ I wished I could claw their eyes out. Fred. No. Fred.  
Through blinding tears, I saw George's tortured expression while Dad stilled him in an embrace. His lost, unfocused eyes fell on me, pinned me down. I felt like an intruder. We were witnessing the worst that could possibly happen to a person- the loss of their soul. It seemed indecent, somehow. This pain belonged to George only.

'Ginny, please', he mouthed.

As I stared in sudden understanding and terror, he lost focus again and starting whimpering and shaking. I was stone-still, tongue cleaved to my palate, unmoving. At a funeral pace, I watched George grabbing Dad's wand, twisting, strength inhuman in his anguish.  
Purple, green and red lights shot across the Hall, aimless. Stones fell from the already crumbling walls, from the ceiling. Panicked shrieks. Still unable to move, I saw people run, crawl, throw themselves among the bodies, arms as shields.

Fireworks for the courageous fallen.

George stood in the midst of it all, feet planted on either side of Fred's body, as if defying anyone who would dare take his twin from him. He flung curses left and right, his eyes glazed, his face disfigured in a never-ending howl of utter pain. I gripped my wand. He seemed to sway, dancing in a broken fashion, his hunched figure in high relief against the streams of light he was purposelessly casting. A study in despair.

Fred's face, lying still, perfect antonym. I couldn't move. Trespasser on my brothers' parting, my arms hung limp by my side, a stray hex cutting into my shoulder. Collateral damage. I saw Kingsley enter the room, a blue jet of light leaving his outstretched wand. Charlie lunged forward from his position on the floor, catching George's stunned form as he sagged. Silently, he laid him down to recover next to his twin.  
People were murmuring urgently, and I could move again.

'I couldn't do it, brother. I could never do it'.

Mum and Dad looked at me questioningly, everyone moving to form a circle again. I could feel people approaching us, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the almost-identical, beautifully scarred bodies on the floor. So still. So peaceful, now. They looked so together, one of them so deceptively life-like. 'I can't do this, George'. My wand dropped at their feet and clattered on the bloodied stones.

Shoulder to shoulder, mirror images of stillness- a cold lake and a sunset sky.


End file.
